


Bring Water

by Itsagrifthing



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Canon-typical language, M/M, Mystery, Prequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-15 04:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsagrifthing/pseuds/Itsagrifthing
Summary: In the city of Ithaca, tensions are rising higher and higher. Two new bounty hunters, desperate for money and a job, stumble upon a big secret hidden within the shadows.





	1. Matchsticks

_Bring water,_

_Something’s on fire_

_Bring water,_

_Oh, must be my heart_

_See my photographs_

_Remembering the ones I threw away_

_When there’s no harbor in my body_

_No respite, boats are burning out at sea…_

 

* * *

  


Two suns set on the city of Ithaca in such a way that the skyline seemed to come alive, living flames danced atop glass buildings as sparks leapt from rooftop to rooftop. Rampant and wild winds fueled the fire of the city as gunshots and dance music alike echoed down the crowded streets, only barely mustered by the mindless, senseless chatter of drunken thieves, crooks and cowards who stumbled down cracked sidewalks. It was a city of ruffians and of barbarians in suit jackets. It was a city of crime and of passion and of countless lives, lived and wasted, washed away down a drain of drugs and drunken stupors. It was a burning city, about to blow, the ground just barely containing a volcanic eruption, and every so often it tremored with the undercurrent of chaos. It was beautiful. It was hideous.

It was _perfect._

“What do you think Locus?” Felix leaned against the side of their sleek new car, casually tossing a knife with one hand. It spun hypnotically in the air, casting off bright glints of light from the setting suns. “Catch a couple of bad guys, rack up our credits, buy one of those fancy penthouses for ourselves… we could definitely make a life in this city.”

His partner snatched the knife mid-throw and flung it into the trunk of the car, glaring at Felix.

“Don’t get cocky. There’s spies everywhere.” Locus shut the trunk with a _bang._

“That’s what I’m _saying,_ man! We could literally pick up anybody on the street and they’d probably be worth something.”

“That’s called trafficking.”

“No, that’s called _business.”_

Locus frowned and shook his head, reaching up absently to touch a corner of the scar on his cheek. He rubbed it gingerly, almost as if it still stung. It probably did, and the look in his eyes was so dominated by stress and exhaustion that Felix sighed.

“When was the last time you’ve slept?”   
Locus said nothing, only dropped his hand and walked over to sit down on the curb. Felix followed him, unfolding his arms.

“Sam, come on. We came to the city to do some good for once. We can’t do that if you don’t sleep for at least two hours most nights.”

When he was ignored yet again, he sighed and wisely changed the subject.

“Alright, fine. We’ll split up, yeah? I’ll check the local police lists, and you go find a hotel. I don’t know how long I’ll be, so…” he glanced down at where his hulk of a partner sat hunched over himself on the curbside. “Get yourself a hooker or something.”

Locus glared up at him.

“Or a therapist. Whatever floats your boat. Keys?”

Felix had to take a step back as the key ring was practically hurled at him with pure brute force, and he could have sworn that the barest hint of a smile showed on Locus’s face— that little shit. “Fuck man, that could have taken an eye out!” He shook his head in exasperation, muttering a string of curses and insults alike under his breath as he yanked open the car door and slid into the driver’s seat.

As soon as he started the car, classical music-- like, legit classical music with violins and harps and shit-- began blaring out of the car speakers full volume. Felix instinctively covered his ears and waved out his hands blindly, tapping at the screen to turn down the volume. After several seconds of indiscriminate pressing of buttons, the music turned off. He groaned in frustration, and yep, Locus was _definitely_ smirking now.  

“ _This_ is what I have to put up with,” he muttered, pulling out of the parking space and away from where Locus sat on the curb-- though he was tempted to gun in into drive rather than reverse. “Fucking perfect.”

It was going to be a tricky partnership.

 

* * *

 

Dan Sweeney, of Sweeney’s Bed and Breakfast, had seen a lot of things, but the man standing before him, the 6’4 dark-skinned man comprised entirely of pure muscle and violence, the man that towered over him with a blasted ‘x’ shaped scar covering his entire face, yes _that_ man… boy oh boy does he take the cake.

Dan swallowed. “C-can I help you… sir?”

The man glared down at him and slapped a few dozen credits on the counter. Dan jumped nervously as the enormous hand slammed down onto the surface, practically shaking the whole lobby.

“Three nights, two beds,” the stranger said, his voice about as deep and husky as Sweeney could have expected. It grated on the base of his eardrums, and sparked an intense pressure at Sweeney’s temples. It was unsettling, it was nerve-wracking, it was intimidating, and if Sweeney had a secret button that immediately called the police, he definitely would have pressed it by now.

But no button existed for him at this moment— for his own reasons— and he hesitantly reached out to pull the credits towards him, quickly backing out of the shadow of the large man and rang them up, all while seriously considering a career change.

“Sorry partner… but it seems like you don’t have enough credits for three nights. If you’d like, you can stay one night, but--”

With a flash of motion, the stranger reached past the computer, stretching farther than Sweeney would have thought possible, and grabbed him by the collar. He was yanked closer and up into the air, his short legs dangling far above the counter and his toes twitching frantically, searching for a solid surface. Sweeney yelped.

“Dan Sweeney, also known as Jameson Brown, you’re wanted on at least three different planets for fraud, embezzlement and identity theft. I know of a few good cops that would pay real well for you.” Sweeney gulped, his  face turning an ungodly shade of red-- whether it was from the asphyxiation or the intimidation, he had no way of knowing.

“T-take it easy there, partner…” he stammered, laughing breathlessly as beads of sweat dripped down his face. “I-I mean, you’re not _wrong,_ per say, but--”

“Your jail time would be at least a life-sentence on two of the planets, and a death sentence on one because of your involvement in a political coop. Therefore…”

The stranger reached over, grabbed the credits, and slapped them into Sweeney’s open palm-- they very nearly fell out and onto the ground, but he clutched his fist around them tightly, praying they wouldn’t slip due to the sweat.

“I believe this amount will do just fine.”

Sweeney nodded quickly, choking a little. The stranger waited a beat before setting him back down on the floor, and immediately Sweeney rang up the credits. His hands shook as he loosened his dirty tie and smoothed back his oily hair.

“We’re out of rooms with two beds,” he said briskly, sliding over the room keys and, before the stranger could blink, Dan Sweeney disappeared into the backroom.

Locus sighed and picked up the room keys, wiping sweat off on a nearby rag. He turned and headed out of the dark lobby towards his room.

He was completely oblivious of the lone man in a long coat sitting in the corner, watching his every move.

 

* * *

 

 _“The fuck you mean, you couldn’t get two beds?”_ Felix’s harsh voice sounded especially grating when it came out through Locus’s shitty phone speakers, and he had to take two deep breaths to reel in his temper before replying.

“I mean, we have one bed. One bed, one closet, one bathroom. It’s called sharing.”

 _“Fuck that. I’ll sleep on the floor,”_ Felix grumbled. _“Is the room at least decent?”_

Locus glanced around the small, cramped hotel room with rotting floor boards and leaky ceilings and possibly what looked like a cockroach or two. At least it had running water. Probably.

“Living off our pay, you’re going to have to get used to a lower standard of living,” he said in response, and he could practically hear Felix’s eyeroll.

_“Goddamn it.”_

“Get anywhere with the lists?”

 _“Yeah,”_ Felix snorted. _“If we cared about D-grade criminals worth two credits. If we want the big scores, we’ll probably have to look other places.”_

“Our inn’s run by Jameson Brown,” Locus offered, almost off-handedly, and Felix pondered it for a second or two.

_“I’ll consider it. We’ve got to be real fucking desperate before we got after someone like him. In the meantime, I’m stopping by the drug store. I need a beer.”_

Locus nodded, knowing, but not caring, that he was on the phone and Felix couldn’t actually see him. Not like he would care, anyway.

_“And Sam? I wasn’t kidding about the hooker. Live a little.”_

The line clicked.

Locus shook his head, snapping his phone shut and sitting down on the bed, which creaked and groaned under his weight, dipping at least three inches toward the floor.

It had been a while since Locus was last in a city of some sort. He had at least been five years younger-- more innocent, more naive, and less rough around the edges. He hadn’t been completely hooked when Felix suggested the idea of bounty-hunting instead of enlisting in the army-- as a descendant of a line of soldiers, Locus felt as if he had to live up to the role-- but Felix had connections, and they needed money, and besides, Felix had convinced him that bounty-hunting is a much-needed job. Soldiers could rid the universe of aliens, but who would have the guts to remove the truly evil and corrupt-- humans? The two of them could do just as much good here as they could do in a war, and maybe even more.

So even though Felix was just some stranger Locus had met one day on the battlefield, even though Felix was a foreign man, a person of an entirely different sort, even though there was something about Felix that lurked under the surface, a darkness that couldn’t quite be placed, Locus agreed to go with him.

It was the best, and worst, choice of his life.

 

Several hours of sweet silence, save the occasional squeak of a mouse, later, Felix barged through the old wooden door of their room, dragging several bags filled to the brim behind him.

“That innkeeper is a fucking _douche.”_ Locus opened one eye and peered at him from where he was perched on the bed.

Felix snorted. “You’ve been meditating, haven’t you?”

“It’s relaxing,” Locus said calmly, inhaling and exhaling once more before he uncrossed his legs and stood up to help Felix with the supplies. A couple cans tumbled out of the bags and clattered onto the floor, one landing on Felix’s foot. He cursed and stumbled backwards, tripping over a floor board and half-bumped, half-fell onto Locus. The two glared at each other. “Maybe you should try it sometime,” Locus suggested, and Felix angrily pushed away from him.

“Whatever,” he muttered, and began putting away the rest of the food. Locus picked up the cans on the floor and placed them inside a cabinet.

The two of them finished the task in silence, frustration radiating from Felix and colliding with Locus’s forced patience. There wasn’t much to say, there wasn’t _anything_ to say and they both knew it, but it’s a comfortable relationship that allows for a silence, however tense, so they endured. They were just so _tired,_ neither of them had been coping well since the Incident. Locus got nightmares, but Felix got… violent.

And it was a new kind of violent that Locus saw in him, too. Sure, Felix had always had a temper-- but this was different. This new Felix-- he was reckless. He was ruthless, he was brutal. Those flames in his eyes burned brightly every time he got a good look at Locus’s scars, the power of dual suns and the rage of an entire army that just barely lingered below the surface.

Woe to the man that ignites the fire.

 

* * *

 

Felix tossed him a cold can of beer, leaning against the counter and tipping back his own. Locus stared at the drink in his hands.

“Where’d you get the money for all this?” he asked, frowning.

“Well I didn’t steal it,” his partner joked.

“Felix…”

Felix rolled his eyes and sighed. “Loosen _up_ , Sam.” He finished his beer and snatched the can out of Locus’s hand. He opened that with a _pop_ and a spray of foam, downing it just as quickly as the other. “Honestly,” he said, gesturing to his forehead. “You’re gonna get wrinkles.”

Locus inhaled. Exhaled.

He stood up and grabbed a toothbrush from his suitcase.

“We need to start getting used to code names,” he chastised, and went into the bathroom. Felix watched him go with a disdainful look, shrugging and reaching for another beer as soon as the door was shut.

 _“We need to start using code names,”_ he mocked quietly. Code names. Fat lot of good those would do. It didn’t matter what names they go by, the bad guys will still find them. Names, cities, planets, _galaxies--_ whatever they changed, however far they ran, those crooks, those _criminals_ would still find them. And when they did…

Felix didn’t even notice how tightly he was squeezing the can until it burst in his hands, liquid and foam alike exploding all over him, dousing his clothes.

 _“_ Mother _fucker!”_

 

* * *

 

_\--his face was burning, splitting, searing, the pain and the fire blinding him as he doubled over in the chair. Blood and sweat squeezed their way through his tightly clenched eyelids, and it was all he could do not to scream._

_Felix, however, let loose a string of obscenities at the top of his lungs, straining against his ropes in vain._

_“You motherfucker, come here you coward!” he screamed, but the man in the black mask paid no attention to him. Felix could always be loud when he wanted, but this time it did him no good._

_Though he couldn’t see the glint of the knife as it slashed through the air towards him, Locus heard the blade cut through the air, felt it slash deep into his face and he was on fire again._

_He didn’t know how much time passed, didn’t know how much blood he had lost, didn’t even know what kind of noises he was making-- was it a scream? Or a shriek? Or a whimper, or some combination of the above? All he knew was that he was left in the chair for what seemed like years, Felix desperately pleading for him to stay awake, stay alive Sam, Jesus Christ, don’t you dare die and leave me alone, don’t you dare, wake up--_

  


“Sam! Hey, hey, wake up!”

Locus tightened his fists, clutching the sheets underneath him so tightly that if he moved he would tear them to shreds. _The dream was real, it was all too real, and he could feel the fire on his face, the burning pain--_

_\--Felix was shouting, screaming, his voice breaking--_

“Get up, you bastard--”

A wave of ice cold water doused the fire, doused him, and Locus gasped loudly, sitting up straight. Eyes wide open, he panted, staring at Felix-- Felix, who wasn’t screaming, but was holding an empty, dripping bowl and frowning, one hand on his hip.

_It was a dream… Only a dream…_

Felix sighed, going back to the kitchen. “We gonna make a habit of this?” he said nonchalantly, but his hand shook slightly as he set the bowl down and it clattered on the counter a little too noisily.

It echoed in the heavy, shoulder crushing silence between them, as they both stayed in their own corners, in their own minds, and breathed and breathed. They each knew what was in the other’s head, each knew the images they were reliving, the moments that would never go away, the moments that would burn forever.

Felix hesitated. “Look, Sam--”

A knock at the door interrupted him, and he froze, exchanging a look with Locus. He slowly held a finger up to his lips, and they waited again in silence-- but this time, it was a different silence.

There was another knock and they both leapt from their places, spurred into action.

With practiced, calculated movements, Locus grabbed the rifle in the corner and Felix threw open a cabinet, yanking out a pistol. Making eye contact, they crept towards the door as there was a third knock. Felix cocked his gun and placed the muzzle against the wooden frame, grabbing the door handle with his other hand. He motioned to Locus.

 _“On three,”_ he mouthed. Locus nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. Cobwebs of his dream still clung to him, tugging at his mind. _“One… Two… Three--”_

But before either of them could do anything, there was a final knock, and a small slip of paper slid under the door and into the room. Felix raised an eyebrow at Locus and bent down to pick it up.

It was a generic white envelope, nothing fancy about it, but on the front were two words scribbled in messy black scrawl: For bounty. Locus opened the door just a crack and peered out into the hallway. No one was there.

“What is it?” he asked, quietly shutting the door and setting his rifle down.

“God-- just give me a second, will you?” Felix said, exasperated, pulling a pocket knife out of his back pocket and ripping the envelope open. He tugged out a single paper, tri-folded crisply, and flattened it out.

“Mason Wu,” he read aloud, glancing at an image of a open-faced chinese man. “Known criminal, wanted for murder, theft, etcetera… Bounty of ten _million_ credits?!”

No way was that true. Locus took the paper from Felix and read it to himself, scanning what looked to be a criminal record. Sure enough, there it was, underneath a long list of crimes against humanity, known aliases, and known associates-- “wanted for a bounty of ten million credits by Ithaca state police.” Felix grinned and whooped. “We’re gonna be rich!”

“How did you miss this?” Locus asked, studying the paper.

“Fuck man, I don’t even know. It wasn’t on the lists, I swear.” Felix shrugged it off. “But never mind that, we’re gonna be _fucking millionaires!”_ He could just imagine-- no more shitty hotels, no more low-life criminal innkeepers, no more second-rate shops, no more beers out of a can… no, instead they’d be living it up in the biggest penthouse in the city, a woman on each arm, a martini in each hand, and servants to wait on their every beck and call. It would be lavish, it would be amazing, it would be--

“A trap,” Locus concluded, giving the paper back. “I don’t like this. It’s all too clean.”

“Too _clean?”_ Felix fumed, shaking his head and turning away. He held the paper up to the light. “Sam, you wouldn’t know an opportunity if it shoved itself up your ass. This…?” He flicked it. “This is an opportunity. We’re taking it.”

“I’m not so sure. Why wouldn’t whoever had this give it to us in person?”

Felix shrugged. “So maybe this Mason guy’s got some enemies. So what? Look at all his crimes… I wouldn’t show my face if I was trying to get him arrested.” Locus remained unconvinced, that perpetual frown deepening the creases in his forehead. Felix sighed-- _why did he always have to be so damn stubborn?--_ and walked up to him.

“Sam. Listen. We came to this city to do some good, right? Right?” Locus nodded reluctantly. “This-- _this_ \-- is how we do it. Look at this guy. Look at all these people he’s hurt, and think about all the people he will hurt if we don’t _do something._ And if we happen to make a killing off it, then we do. But think about it. We could save _lives.”_ Felix paused, allowing his argument to sink in, and held the paper out to his partner. “We want to do good. Letting this guy go, he’ll be on your conscience. Everyone he hurts-- that’ll be on _you,_ Sam.”

Locus hesitated, and Felix watched as his words finally dawned on him. Locus wouldn’t let another criminal go, not after last time. Locus would _have_ to go after this guy, he wouldn’t have a choice. He wouldn’t allow himself to walk away from this. People, innocent people could be hurt… it would be his fault… all his fault…

Felix bit back a triumphant grin as Locus slowly took the letter and read it through once again.

And he waited…

Finally, Locus exhaled heavily. “Fine. We’ll leave in an hour.”

“Yes! Alright, pack your stuff Sam! We’re gonna be _rich!”_ Felix exclaimed, and began stuffing his bag with pistols and ammo alike.

It was such a childish excitement he felt, almost like Christmas, and that eagerness sparked a new energy inside him, something that drove him towards this new mission of theirs. It was an odd sensation, but not one he was entirely unfamiliar with. He’s felt it before-- in the heat of a battle, at the beginning of their last mission, and, on a couple of occasions, when he was with Locus. It made him feel powerful, it made him feel triumphant, it made him feel like… like…

He couldn’t place a name to it. But it was a strong feeling, and the frenzied sparks jumped in the pit of his stomach. He’d have to figure out what it was-- eventually.

 

 

* * *

  

They began at the local bar, of course, and even though they could barely afford to get a glass of tap water, Felix glady made his way around the locals until he found one of them who was just drunk enough to sit down and buy them a couple rounds.

His name was Lewis, he explained through slurred words and a haze of bubbles. He was a retired banker, recently released from a thirty year sentence on a nearby planet for embezzlement. It was a long time since he had been back in the city, but in prison he had heard reports of a black shadow causing havoc throughout Ithaca.

“A black shadow?” Locus asked, sliding his untouched drink towards Felix, who grabbed it and quickly knocked it back.

Lewis nodded. He lifted a finger towards the bartender, then leaned forward. “He wa’ known fo’ stirrin up trouble in the streets a couple a years ago. Murdah, and robbin alike. Heard he would even hit women. And _children_.” He shook his head. “But then I ain’t heard o’ him for maybe five yeahs’? Until just recently.”

“What happened recently?” Locus asked, discreetly nudging Felix and pointing to the clock-- where the small hand rested on three. That didn’t deter him, though, and Felix knocked back another drink.

The old man belched. “I heard he went after a big time corporation-- Lozano industries.”

Locus and Felix exchanged glances. “Lozano? As in _Reuben_ Lozano, the corrupt billionaire?”

Lewis nodded. “That’d be him.”

“What happened?” Locus asked. Lewis shrugged.

“Don’ know. Last I heard, the blew up a couple o’ nightclubs, caused a big ruckus, then everything went silent. Some say he got killed, and ol’ Reuben put an end to his trouble…”

He dropped his voice and glanced around.

“If ya ask me though, I think he found somethen else.”

“Something else?”

“Yeah. A new target.”

“And what do you think that is?”

“Well,” Lewis shrugged. “Can’t say for sure. But word on the streets is that there are new players in town. Known only as the Orange and the Green.”

“Orange and Green?” Felix asked, sending a look at Locus. “Think they’re the ones who sent us that file?”

Locus shook his head and turned back toward Lewis. “Thank you for your help. You’ve given us a lot.”

The old man belched again and shrugged. “Sure. Thanks for buyin the round.”

“No problem,” Felix said, winking at Locus, and stood up. “See you around, Lewis.”

As they headed out the bar, Locus turned the conversation over in his mind. The Black Shadow… Orange and Green… Lozano Industries… what could they all have in common?

He followed Felix to their car, running his fingers over his belt holster. The case had suddenly become a lot more involved. They weren’t just looking for any old criminal now, it was a whole web of stories and rumors and ghosts and death.

It was a hell of a first case.

“So what do you think, Sam?” Felix said, grinning as he opened the car door. Locus glared at him.

“Code names.”

“Right, right, sorry.” Felix turned the keys in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot. “I’m thinking next we hit the Hall of Records. I want to find out more about that incident with the nightclubs. What do you think?”

“That’s fine…” Locus nodded, already drifting off to ruminate on the wealth of information they had just gained. Felix turned up the radio, rolled down his windows, and took off down the street.

He couldn’t _wait_ to delve into this new mystery.

 

* * *

 

Exactly eight hours and twenty seven minutes later, Felix found himself storming through the door to his motel room, Locus and the owner of the inn both trailing behind him.

 _“Nothing!_ Goddamn it, there’s _nothing!”_

“Sir, excuse me, you can’t just--” Dan protested loudly over Felix’s curses. To the weasel’s credit, he withered only slightly under Locus’s silencing glare.

“Eight hours _wasted,_ that fucking Lozano covered it all up--”  

“This is my Bed and Breakfast and I won’t allow you to disturb the guests--”

“Shove it Sweeney,” Felix snarled, and slammed the door in the innkeeper’s face, nearly smashing his oily nose into the wood. He threw his pistol hard at the wall and ran a distressed hand through his hair.

“Calm down Felix--” Locus tried.

“ _Clam down?!_ Fuck-- don’t tell me to fucking _calm down._ I am goddamn pissed off-- and if this douchebag doesn’t _fuck off_ I swear to god I will--!” he said loudly, aiming his last few words towards the door as Sweeney pounded on it.

“--Continue to make a racket and I _will_ call the police!” Dan’s muffled voice came from the other side of the thin wood.

“Ohohoho, _really?!”_ Felix laughed madly, yanking a knife from his boot. He started toward the door, where an unsuspecting Sweeney continued to make half-assed threats.

“Felix…” Locus warned, but it fell on deaf and uncaring ears. That wild look was back, stronger than it had been the last couple of times. He could practically see flames eating away at his partner from the inside.

Felix threw open the door and started toward Dan, who yelped and backed away very quickly until he hit the wall behind him. A cold blade was shoved up against his neck, cutting just barely into the oily flesh. Small beads of blood dripped from the corner of Felix’s knife, and as he stared into darting black eyes, the red began to swallow his vision. He gritted his teeth, his fingers tightening on the handle of the knife, it would be so easy to make Sweeney _scream,_ to _squirm,_ to cry out… it would be so easy to just drag the blade against his neck, to rip open the skin, to draw out his pathetic black blood… it would be so easy to make sure Sweeney never uttered another measly word ever again, to make sure he would never bother then again… it would be so easy--

“ _Felix!_ ” Locus grabbed his shoulder and forcefully yanked him back. “That’s _enough!”_

Sweeney sild to the floor with a terrified noise, rubbing his neck and panting heavily. Felix snapped out of his stupor, dropping the knife to the ground with a clatter. He backed up into Locus, raising his shaking hands in front of him. He met Sweeney’s eyes, and had to look away.

Locus, his hand still on Felix’s shoulder, gently pulled him back into the hotel room.

“We won’t bother you again,” he said to Sweeney, and turned into the room, shutting the door behind him.

Felix shrugged off Locus’s hand and silently moved toward the window. His back was turned, and Locus couldn’t see his face, couldn’t tell what his partner was thinking.

For the first time in three years, Felix was completely foreign to him.

Locus waited.

Felix breathed.

It was silent in the hotel room, far more silent than it should be, with the window to the highway and the streets and even a stripclub just across the street. Far more silent than it should be, with the non-stop police sirens and screams and gunshots and all the dangerous noises that seemed to hit a little close to home at this moment.

It was silent.

Felix breathed.   
Locus waited.

Then-- “I could have done it.”

Felix’s voice was low and haunted, and his shoulders hunched lower to the ground. Locus didn’t reply.

“I _would_ have done it.”

“Felix…”

“Don’t _call_ me that, Sam!” He whirled around and stomped towards Locus. Though there was a noticeable height difference, the rage was still there, bubbling over the surface, and Felix seemed to tower over him. “I don’t _deserve_ it.”

He scowled. “We were supposed to be _good._ Felix-- that name was supposed to represent justice and equivalence. People would have heard Felix and thought-- thought they were _safe._ That the people who had done bad were where they belong. The money… _fuck,_ man, the money meant nothing to me. But now… but now…” His voice wavered, and he looked away. “I can’t-- I’m not-- I don’t understand.” Again he raised his hands to his face, and they still trembled. “I don’t understand. What’s happening to me? Am I still… good?” He looked back at Locus, a strangely vulnerable and open expression on him. It was young. It was naive and innocent.   
But it wasn’t Felix.

See, in that moment, Locus had a choice to make. Felix was unstable right now, and dangerous. Whatever Locus said could potentially fix him, or break him. He could get that innocent and determined young Felix back. The pure eagerness he had seen in Felix’s eyes at that one bar years ago, the wide-eyes, the hopeful look-- he could get that back. He could get the good days back.

Or…

The memory flashed in his head again. The pain, the burning pain, stinging his eyes and bloodying his vision. The sharp _bang_ of a gun, and the dull _thump_ as a hooded man with a knife crumpled to the floor. The smoke, the fire, the ashes, and in the center of it all, Felix, with a smoking pistol and dark eyes made of liquid lava. A fiery storm. Felix, the dark side of him. Felix, the man who saved his life.

Locus touched his scars absently.

They were definitely going to get in trouble again. They were definitely going to get cornered, definitely going to get into life-or-death situations, especially if they were going to continue on this path. In those times, which Felix would be there? The innocent one? Or the one that was willing to do anything to get out?

So Locus made a choice.

He leaned down close to Felix’s face, looked into his eyes, found the unlit match, found the doused flame.

And he ignited it.

“Snap out of it,” he growled, his voice steel, his face emotionless. He watched as the sparks caught, and the fire was lit, and Felix’s eyes hardened.

Locus straightened up and watched pitilessly as Felix stepped back, extinguishing whatever remnants of naivete he had left.

He nodded. “You’re right, Locus. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

He brushed past him cooly, and Locus quickly pushed down the pang in his heart as Felix grabbed the file they had gotten in the morning off the counter, and quickly skimmed it over. “I’m thinking we start from the beginning. Find his associates, past relations, whatever. I’ll make a list, and we can check it out in the morning.”

He glanced up at Locus. “Yeah?”

“Okay. I’ll give you a hand with that--”

“No,” Felix interrupted. “You go to bed. I got this.”

Locus hesitated, a little startled, but Felix turned obliviously away, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“I’ll get this bastard,” he muttered, and sat down at the table.

Locus retreated towards the bed.

This is how it should be, he told himself.

This is how it should be.

 

* * *

 

The morning brought cold and silence. Locus woke from a restless, dreamless deep sleep to find a shivering Felix curled up on the floor next to the open window. After a brief hesitation, he pulled a blanket off his bed and threw it on top of Felix, then headed into the bathroom to take a much needed shower.

He allowed the piping hot water to run down his body, burning away the sleep from his eyes and the ache in the pit of his stomach. He attempted to untangle the growing mass of knots that permanently resided in his shoulders, but when they only seemed to grow, he gave up and let his hands fall limply to his side. That’ll be a problem for another time.

When he had dried and dressed, he entered the kitchen where Felix sat at a table, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, clutching a hot cup of coffee. The bags under his eyes were dark and heavy, and he stared blankly off into space.

Locus edged around the table and got a dusty mug out of the cupboard. He rinsed it off silently. If Felix wanted to talk, he would. Otherwise Locus would stay silent.

He poured himself some coffee and gathered the file up off the table. He read over it again, even though they’ve seen it so many times they practically have it memorized.

“Yesterday…” Felix said suddenly, trailing off to take a sip. “Sucked.”

Locus looked up at him.  

“Maybe having ten shots of whiskey at three in the afternoon wasn’t such a smart idea after all.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, Locus.”

Locus. Not Sam.

He paused. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe instead of focusing on Lozano and this “Black Shadow”-- who’s obviously Wu-- maybe we look for the people who employed us. Orange and Green.”

Locus nodded. “That seems like a good start.”

“Orange and Green…” Felix mused, taking another slow sip.

“I hate the color orange.”


	2. Sprinklers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Eodem bello…” he muttered to himself, a phrase taught to him a long time ago. It had an ambiguous meaning, one Felix had never really understood until he met Locus.  
> “The same in battle.”  
> Or,  
> “The same war.”

_The faster we're falling,_

_We're stopping and stalling_

_We're running in circles again_

_Just as things we're looking up_

_You said it wasn't good enough_

_But still we're trying one more time_

 

* * *

  

Dan Sweeney, of Sweeney’s Bed and Breakfast, had seen a lot of things, and some of those things were so strange and so crazy, so powerful and terrible, so fucking _insane,_ that, well, he really couldn’t be blamed too much for needing a drink from time to time.

His cowboy hat resting on a rickety stool beside him, he pounded back two straight shots and tried to ignore the sharp pain at the base of his neck every time he tipped his head.

“More,” he managed to croak out, and though the bartender glared at him for a couple seconds, his glasses were refilled with a perfect blazing blue liquid.

On any other day, he might have stopped to at least appreciate the way the crystal cup sparkled, sending shimmering blue reflections across the bar when the light hit the glass just right, or how it smoked slightly, a dancing white froth that curled out of the glass and into the air, or even the stark blue of a sky never seen through the cities smog and pollution, but tonight he settled for appreciating the drink _after_ it was inside him.

To his credit, Sweeney wasn’t a regular at the bar, opting more often for a nice smoke of one of those fancy new vaping gimmicks -- but when he did drink, he drank _hard,_ and soon he found himself barely able to remain seated upright. The room spinned around him and everything faded in and out of vision, and his words didn’t come out quite right, but he wasn’t entirely able to remember why he had gotten into such a stupor in the first place, so at least there was that.

He slapped a couple of credits on the counter and pulled himself into a somewhat standing position.

“Keep th’ change, honey,” he slurred, jamming his cowboy hat onto his oily head. The bartender snatched it up and flicked through the bills, shaking her head in disgust.

Sweeney stumbled out of the bar and into the darkened and crumbling parking lot. It took him a minute to decide on which car was his, but when he pulled out his keys and fumbled with them for a minute or two, there was a beep that unmistakably came from a tan beater in the corner.

Now the problem was getting over there.

He took one tentative step towards the car, then another, and he was moving, but the ground shook and there was a pounding in his head and a queasiness in his stomach and a dull ache on his neck for some reason… why was there a dull ache? Dull ache, dull ache, _dull ache_ … it hurt… it stung… red eyes flashed in his mind. He reached a hand up to touch it, and when he pulled away his fingers were as bright as the fire in that man’s eyes--

 _Huh,_ he thought, and fell face-first toward the ground.  

“Woah there!”

But he never reached it.

Sweeney stared at the black asphalt that threatened to swallow him whole and reached a hand out. The blackness wanted to catch him, but it couldn’t quite reach, couldn’t quite get him, even though it was _so close_ , and then he was being lifted up and away from it by the hands of an angel.

“That was a close one,” someone said, helping Sweeney get his balance. “You okay there?”

Sweeney took a few stumbling steps and grabbed onto the stranger’s arm for balance.

“You saved me…” he slurred. The man laughed softly.

“I guess.” He nodded at the car in the corner, one of the few left in the parking lot. “That your’s?”

“I think so.” He attempted to stand up by himself, and the world spun again.

The man hesitated for a brief second. “Look pal, you’re in no shape to be driving...”

“‘M fine.” Sweeney pushed away from him-- _who does this guy think he is?--_ and immediately tipped over.

The stranger caught him again, shaking his head. “Why don’t I give you a ride home? Where do you live?”

“I don’ have any money”

“Don’t worry about it, it’ll be free of charge. I can’t just leave you here without a guilty conscience.”

Sweeney thought it over. “Well… alright.”

The man smiled and put and arm around his shoulder. He gently took the rings of keys from Sweeney and pocketed them. “Come on.”

He half-dragged, half-carried him towards a different car, parked in the shadows.

“Whas’ your name, anyhow?” Sweeney muttered.

“Siris,” the stranger said. “How about you?”

“Dan Sweeney.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Dan Sweeney.”

“You too.”

 

It took them approximately twenty minutes just to get over to the car, and then to get Sweeney settled in the passenger’s seat, and then to go back for his ridiculously large cowboy hat which had blown off halfway through the journey, and finally to start up the car and pull out of the parking lot.

They drove in silence for a couple of minutes, Sweeney’s eyelids drooping shut every so often. The bright neon lights of the city blurred together after a while, into a big mess of reds and greens and blues and purples and yellows and oranges and… it was nearly blinding and the cars moved very fast-- _could cars even go that fast? Was that possible?_ And there were people shouting and horns honking and it blended into a very chaotic and disorienting world.

“That’s a nasty cut you got there,” Siris said casually, slowing to a stop at a traffic light. The dull ache was again brought to the front of his mind, and Sweeney gingerly touched it. When he pulled away this time, though, there was no blood. The cut must have closed. “Need a bandage or anything?”

Sweeney shook his head. “‘S fine.”

“Well alright then.”

He touched it again, running his fingers across the rough scab.

“How’d you get it?”

He furrowed his brows, thinking back. There was… two men. One was very scary, one was very angry. The angry one had a knife…

“A knife?” Siris asked.

Sweeney nodded, though he hadn’t realized he had said that aloud. “ _Knife_.”

“Damn. Are you okay?”

Sweeney waved him off, though in his drunken state, it was more of a vague shrug. “I’m used to it.”

“Who were these guys?”

“Some bounty hunters, I think.”

“Bounty hunters. Interesting.”

Sweeney belched. “Nah. Couple o’ a-holes. Wish I coulda get rid of them.”

“They giving you trouble?”

He indicated to his neck. “This, so far.”

The stoplight changed, bathing the car in green. Siris gently pulled away, and the bright lights continued to flash across the windows. Sweeney found himself hypnotized yet again by all the colors. It was such a big city, it was impossible to ever truly see it all.

“Are these guys bothering anybody else?”

“Nah, they’re gone most o’ the day. Plus they in the room closest to the lobby, so ain’t nobody hear them come in.”

Siris glanced at him out of the corner of his eye as Sweeney’s voice changed suddenly from a southern drawl to the dialect spoken by the paupers in the ghetto.

“Seems like you’re having trouble with your accents there,” he said, almost off-handedly. Sweeney cleared his throat and when he spoke again it was back to the southern sound.

“Sorry pardner, the old spirits got to me there for a sec.”

Siris decided not to comment on that. “So, Felix say anything about where he was going tomorrow?”

Sweeney shook his head. “Nah, they don’t tell me anything. Just--” He paused and looked at the man out of the corner of his eye. “How’d you know his name?”

“What do you mean?” Siris asked, flipping on his blinker and casually turning a corner. “You told me, remember?”

“I did?” Sweeney racked his brain, trying to recall, but he only saw a black haze.

Siris chuckled. “I think you might be more than a little drunk.”

Sweeney frowned, still puzzling out the pieces of their conversation. “Must be…” he said uneasily. Siris drove into a dark alley and pulled into a half-empty parking lot. An old sign hang by the hinges over a small door, but a couple of the letters were out so it read “Weeney’s ed n rekfat” in the dark.

“Here we are.”

“Huh,” Sweeney said, pausing. “I musta’ forgot I told you where I live too.”

Siris parked and unlocked the doors. “Want me to walk you in?”

“‘M fine.” Sweeney waved him off and got out of the car.

“Don’t forget your hat!”

“Thank ya’,” he said. “You’ve been a real help, sir.”

Siris laughed. “No problem. Just no more drinking and driving, okay?”

“Alright.”

Sweeney shut the door and headed up the steps to the inn. He put his hand on the knob and jiggled it. When it refused to turn, he reached into his pocket for the keys. “Hey wait a second!” he shouted suddenly, spinning around. He pointed at a black car, speeding off down the road. “You have my keys!”

 

* * *

 

Locus woke up to a pounding on the door.

His first thought was to check on Felix, who had fallen asleep at the kitchen table for the second night in a row. His back was gonna be sore again, and he was _definitely_ gonna be cranky. Locus should probably start the coffee sooner rather than later

\--and also get rid of that incessant banging.

They were making good progress though, Locus noticed as he picked up his rifle from the umbrella stand. The wall opposite to the kitchen was covered by a map of the city, and pinned to it were pictures of the elusive “black shadow,” pictures of his associates, pictures of the all the nightclub incidents-- as well as any of the little information they managed to gather about the assumed mercenaries “Orange” and “Green.” There wasn’t much to find, but what there was, they had definitely gotten it all.

_Knock knock knock._

Locus cocked his gun and peered through the door’s peephole. There wasn’t anybody in the hall, but the banging wasn’t at their door anyways. It sounded farther off.

Felix stirred at the table. “Locus?” he muttered, sitting up a little.

“Go back to sleep,” he told him. “I’m just going to check on whatever is making that noise.”

“Do me a favor and kill that bastard,” Felix yawned and laid his head back down.

Locus rolled his eyes and slowly opened the door. He followed the sound down into the lobby, which was oddly empty, and to the door.

The windows were fogged over, whether with morning dew or dust, it was impossible to tell, so he pressed an ear to the door.

“Hey! Anybody? Open up, partners!”

He recoiled from the door. That voice was familiar…

He lowered his shotgun and slowly opened the door.

“Oh thank the lord up above, thank you si--”

Sweeney froze as he stared up at Locus. “Oh.”

“What are you doing out here?” Locus asked, mildly annoyed. He didn’t want to have to deal with this guy again.

Dan blushed and hurried past him into the lobby. “Well, I say, it’s not your business, now is it?”

Locus casually switched his rifle to the other hand and followed him towards the counter. “Well, you did wake me, _and_ my partner, up with your banging. I’d say that makes it our business.”

Sweeney gulped and loosed the collar on his sweaty button-down shirt. “Your-your partner, too, you say?”

“Yeah. _Felix_.”

“Well… I suppose…”

Locus waited, as Sweeney weighed the consequences. Tell Locus… or tell the man who tried to slit his throat.

“Well, you see,” he started. “I’m not… entirely sure what happened. I went to the bar last night and blacked out. I woke up on the porch with no keys.”

Locus sighed. “So you’re just irresponsible.”

“Well can you _blame_ me?!” Sweeney shouted suddenly, slamming his hand on the counter. His eyes flashed, and the southern tang disappeared. “With you and your crazy, maniac boyfriend trying to kill me in my own _fucking hotel?!_ So maybe I have a couple drinks from time to time-- _can you blame me?! ”_

“Shut the fuck up!” Felix roared from their room, and Sweeney immediately closed his mouth. He blinked, almost as surprised as Locus was.

The lobby was dead silent for a couple of seconds.

“S-sorry about that, partner. I lost my temper there.”

Locus hefted the rifle over his shoulder and wordlessly left the lobby, turning into his room and shutting the door.

Sweeney pursed his lips, hesitating behind the counter for a second.

“Yeah…” he muttered, and headed into the back room, whipping the dividing curtain closed behind him.

 

“What the hell was that about?” Felix groaned, sitting up and stretching. With his messed up mohawk, and dark, heavy eye bags, he looked exhausted.

“Nothing,” Locus said, setting down his rifle and going into the kitchen. He pulled out two mugs and filled up the coffee machine. He glanced at Felix. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Eh…” Felix scratched his neck. “What time is it now?”

“Around seven.”

“Two hours, twenty seven minutes.”

Locus shook his head. “You need to get more sleep. It’s unhealthy.”

“Hey, look who’s talking man. You get… how many hours of sleep per week?”

“I get enough.”

Felix scoffed. “Yeah right. Tell me, what was your nightmare about last night?”

Locus looked away and didn’t reply.

“That’s what I thought.”

They waited in an uneasy silence for the coffee machine to go off. When it finally did, that little _bleep bleep bleep_ echoing around their suddenly small room, Locus couldn’t pour the coffee out fast enough. He downed his mug, ignoring the heat that seared his mouth, and headed into the bathroom.

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” he threw over his shoulder, and shut the door with a _bang._

“Got it,” Felix muttered, tapping the tips of his fingernails on the white ceramic mug,

His eyes involuntarily wandered over to the wall of pictures.

Red string tied to push-pins connected each picture, each location they had been able to track Wu to. It looked like it was laid out in a organized manner, each item placed deliberately on the wall, from overlapping cards, to notes jotted in black ink, to dangling strings. But Felix knew better-- he was the one who had created it after all. The wall could be filled as much as they wanted, it was all a mask for the fact that they have jack-shit.

There was one thing that was bothering him, though. Orange and Green. The pair were hardly known, and weren’t on any record they had looked at so far. In fact, the two really didn’t seem to fit in anywhere with Wu’s story. It was almost as if they didn’t exist.

He scowled and took a sip of his coffee.

Locus had made exactly how he liked it, slightly milky with a drip of honey. The liquid was warm and stimulating. Gradually, he found his eyes opening wider and wider, and his mind more and more active, until he couldn’t sit anymore and began pacing around the room.

He couldn’t get the strange look of hurt on Locus’ face out of his mind.

 _“What were your nightmares about last night?”_ his voice snidely replayed in his head. The words were harsh and sharp and completely unfair. He nearly regretted saying them.

Because he _knew_ what Locus’ dreams were about, he _heard_ him muttering agitatedly in the night. Heard him tossing and turning. It’s why Felix let him have the bed-- if Locus slept on the floor, he’d probably end up punching a hole through the wooden planks.

He hadn’t meant for it to come out so cruelly, of course. They were partners, after all. They had to like each other at least a little bit. But he was tired and defensive, and didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that Locus was right, that he really hadn’t slept well the past few days. Not since…

_“Snap out of it.”_

But Locus had been cruel too. When Felix was most vulnerable, Locus had pushed him away.

It was what he needed, of course, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Felix didn’t know what he wanted out their relationship. A partner? A friend? Something else?

Maybe they just couldn’t reach a level of emotional closeness that most duos could, but he knew for certain that they did have a unique connection. In battle, it was almost as if they shared a mind. He’s never been able to fight with anybody as well as Locus.

“Eodem bello…” he muttered to himself, a phrase taught to him a long time ago. It had an ambiguous meaning, one he had never really understood until he met Locus.

“The same in battle.”

Or,

“The same war.”

Felix didn’t realize how long he was stuck thinking about this until Locus stepped out of the bathroom, fully clothed and ready to go.

“Got everything?” he asked in his normal gruff and concise tone of voice.

“Shit, one second.” Felix hurriedly threw on a jacket and loaded his belt with guns and knives.

He followed Locus toward the door and out into the lobby. Sweeney was putzing around behind the counter, and a lone man sat in a chair, reading a newspaper.

Before they left the hotel, Locus patted his pockets turned to Felix. “Do you have your room key?”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you lost it already. Yeah, I’ve got mine.”

He indicated to jacket. “Right here.”

The man in the corner subtly peered over the top of his paper.

“Come on. I’ll drive.” Felix moved out the door, not bothering to hold it open for Locus, and out into the parking lot.

At the register, Sweeney glanced at the man left and sighed. “Excuse me, loiterers aren’t tolerated in the lobby. You’ll have to find somewhere else to go.”

The man exhaled heavily and stood up, stretching. His black hair and dark sports coat sparked something for Sweeney, a memory that lurked just below the surface.  
“Have we met?” he asked slowly as the stranger folded the newspaper.

“Nope,” came the curt reply, and the stranger promptly turned and exited the building.

“Huh,” Sweeney muttered. He turned back to his computer, shaking his head.

Maybe he just needs a drink.

* * *

 

The car ride was silent, neither and awkward one nor a comfortable one. The fight from the morning hadn’t quite been resolved yet, but it wasn’t as tense as it was earlier either. Locus’ shower seemed to have washed away some of his stress, and after stopping by to pick up another cup of coffee, Felix wasn’t as cranky either.

That wasn’t say they weren’t quite _happy,_ though. Happy was a long ways off.

“So what do you think?” Felix asked, temporarily breaking the silence. “Shopping strip?”

“Anywhere works,” Locus replied after a couple of seconds. “Preferably somewhere more in our price range.”

Felix scoffed. “Locus, anything’s in our price range so long as they don’t have security cameras.”

His partner just glared at him. “Kidding, kidding,” he amended hastily. “I think I’m in the mood for some Greek.”

He checked his rearview mirror and turned a corner, passing underneath a colorful sign reading “Welcome to Greektown!”

A couple meters behind them, a sleek black car turned the corner as well.

Felix pulled the car off the side of the road, behind a long line of other parked cars. He backed up, bumping the car behind him.

“Shit!” he cursed, pulling forward again at an angle, but he hit the car in front of him. “Goddamnit!”

Locus eyed him. “Should have let me drive--”

“ _You shut the fuck up.”_

After more than a few tries, Felix finally managed to park somewhat parallel to the curb, and climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him in exasperation. He kicked it for good measure, then followed Locus onto the sidewalk.

They started toward the south, passing various pottery and art stores. The smell of spices and oil drifted down out into the crowd, and _damn_ was it crowded. People were packed in everywhere throughout the sidewalk, even spilling out onto the streets. Cars honked as they whizzed by pedestrians and jaywalkers alike, and the sound of chattering and ringing and beeping and shouting all mixed into a bedlam of life.

If it weren’t for Locus’ height, Felix would have been lost in the crowd. Not only is he easy to spot over everybody’s heads, but people parted before his menacing glare like the Red Sea, scrambling out of his way and over benches just to avoid him.

“You know the way?” he asked as Felix jogged to catch up.

“Of course,” he replied haughtily. A particularly bright sign caught his eye. “Want to grab a gyro? ...Giro, gyro, I never know how to pronounce it.”

“Don’t ask me,” Locus said, glancing down at him.

“I thought you were mediterranean?”

“I’m a lot of things.”  
“ _That’s_ for sure.”

A group of girls passed them, giggling. Felix winked at one as he caught her eye, but her friend flipped him off. He frowned. “Well fuck you too,” he muttered, and kept walking.

 _It’s alright,_ he soothed himself. _Soon, this Mason Wu guy will be in jail and I’ll have a shit ton of money. I just haven’t made a name for myself yet._

Locus had moved forward in the crowd, and the part in front of him was closing rapidly behind him.

“Hey-- Locus, wait!” Felix dodged a couple walking in front of him, and bumped into man in a dark coat. “Sorry,” he apologized hastily as his walk turned into a run, dodging even more people. As Locus neared in sight, Felix reached out in front of him, breaking through the crowd, and grabbing onto Locus’ jacket. He turned.

“What?”

“Slow down, _jesus,”_ Felix panted.

“Keep up,” Locus said simply, and moved off to the side near a store. A street vendor was shouting in a raspy voice next to them, grinning with a full smile of crooked and yellow teeth.

“2 for a dollar! 2 for a dollar!”

Felix grimaced. Locus turned to him. “How much longer?”

“Not much,” he promised.

“2 for a dollar!”

Locus peered over his shoulder. “Do you think--”

“How about a gyro for the nice couple?” The street vendor had gotten them in her sights, and was brandishing a wrap towards them.

“So that’s how you say it…” Locus muttered, and Felix’s face turned a bright shade of red.

“ _Excuse me?!”_ he said loudly. “We’re not-- a _couple._ Go take your damn giro somewhere else.”

“Gyro,” both Locus and the vendor corrected him.

_“I don’t give a fuck!”_

Angrily, Felix turned and began to stomp away, shoving his hands in his pockets.

He made it about five feet before he froze and turned slowly. “Locus?”

“What?” his partner came up behind him, taking a bite of the wrap he had bought. Felix would have glared at him, but he was too preoccupied with a much more serious problem.

“My room keys missing.”

Locus paused. “You didn’t lose it?”

“I’m not an idiot.”

He shook his head. “We should get back to the hotel then. We’ve been here too long anyways.”

Felix nodded. “I’ll drive.”

“No,” Locus said quickly. “I’ll drive.”

“Fine,” Felix sighed, and reached to rip off a piece of the wrap in Locus’ hand.

“Hey!” his partner protested.

“Oh shut up.”

 

* * *

 

At exactly one in the morning, the lock on the Bed and Breakfast inn clicked open, and a stranger stepped inside.

The lobby was dark, only dimly lit by the passing headlights of cars and the residue glow from street signs a couple yards away. A man in a black coat would simply look like a shadow, a hint of an overactive imagination, so the stranger had no trouble making it through the room. There were no camera to worry about, the owner had divulged a day or so ago, since most of his customers were not ones who would take lightly their face on tangible evidence.

The owner had also divulged the location to a certain safe below the counter, and nearly the first digit as well, before he clapped one drunken hand over his leaking mouth.  
Not that the man needed the code, anyway.

But he continued past the safe, past the loaded register, and into the hall.

The stranger pulled a slip of purple fabric up over his face, covering his mouth and nose. He removed a silenced gun from its holster on his thigh, and took a small card out of his pocket. “Room 101,” it read, as well as a name scribbled in pen below it. Felix.

The stranger cocked his pistol and carefully inserted the card in a chip reader. After several tense seconds, the red light turned green and the lock clicked, a quiet _snick_ that seemed to echo down the still halls.

He pocketed the card and placed a hand on the knob. He took a breath, briefly closed his eyes, tightened his grip on his gun, and slowly opened the door.

He found himself staring straight at a pair of bright orange sunglasses. The stranger caught his breath and froze.

“Hi there,” Felix said, and the room exploded.

Smoke filled Siris’ eyes and ears and mouth and nose, suffocating him as a loud wail pierced the air. He stumbled backwards and out of the room, losing his grip on his gun as he coughed and desperately wiped his stinging eyes.

Everything was gray and black, and the stranger could barely see through it all.

Distant voices began to grow louder, as well as the muffled slam of doors.

“What’s going on?!” someone shouted.

The smoke had mostly been expelled from his lungs, and his mind was starting to work again. He had to get out of here.

He turned and began to run, stumbling into a body.

“What’s happened?” the man asked, a shiny badge with the word ‘Charon’ on it somehow flashing in the dark.

“It was a trap,” Siris gasped, and shoved past him. Blindly, he made it to the lobby.

Sweeney had woken up, popping out from behind the curtain.

“Oh Jesus,” he was shouting over and over again. “Everyone, this way!”

The alarm grew in volume, and old rusted sprinklers began to drip water onto everyone. Siris was vaguely aware of footsteps behind him--apparently someone in the hallway had decided to follow him to the door and led all the people on the first floor that way as well.

“Stay calm!” Sweeney shouted. “Everyone just stay calm--”

No one was listening. They all trampled each other as they sprinted for the lobby door. It was practically ripped off its hinges as they burst through it, spilling into the narrow alley and running towards the street.

But Siris ran the opposite direction.

“Those crazy fuckers,” he cursed as he wiped the tears from his eyes and sprinted toward the car he had parked in the other street. The smoke had thinned out where he was, and he lowered the purple fabric that covered his mouth. He took a deep breath of fresh air and had to pause for a second to get his bearings.

He leaned against the brick wall and succumbed to another fit of coughing. “They’re insane,” he muttered, shaking his head. There was no way either of them had survived that, not when they were are the center of it.

Something flashed in front of him. Siris froze and pressed his back against the wall, hastily pulling out his gun.

A light flashed again, red and flickering back and forth on the ground in front of him. As he watched, it slowly came to a stop for a quick second, then began to travel in a straight line towards him, traveling up his leg and coming to another rest on his chest.

“I suggest you put the gun down,” a familiar voice said. “My partner has a twitchy trigger finger.”

Orange sunglasses moved out of the shadows, twirling a knife in his hand.

“Orange…” Siris breathed. The figure frowned.

“Actually,” he said, slowly moving closer and reaching for the gun in Siris’ hand, “It’s Felix.”

Left with no choice, Siris allowed him to pry the pistol from his fingers. “What do you want?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“What do we want?” Felix asked, casually tapping the gun on his shoulder. “Preferably lots of money.” He checked the pistol, popping out the magazine and pushing it back in again. He lowered the muzzle slowly and dramatically, until it just barely touched the tip of Siris’ nose.

“But first we have a couple questions for you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing Felix and Locus! I really enjoy creating the banter between them, and all the little quirks they have. There's a lot of directions I want to go with story, and I'm trying to stay as close to canon as possible. Obviously I had to alter their timeline a little, but it will eventually flow into the "Club" "Call" and "Consequences" series in season 14.  
> I hope you enjoy it, and I'm always open to comments/criticisms so post em if you got em!


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